Lorax Shot In The Thorax

At the far end of Damascus
where blood rivers run red
and the streets are all filled
with remains of the dead,
once lived the Lorax.

The Lorax was peaceful,
performing his trade.
From truffula trees
woven baskets he made.

Life had been quiet
until one Arab Spring,
when violence and chaos
a revolution did bring.
The streets that were lined
with fig trees and palms
now were all filled
with bullets and bombs.

The Whos down in Whoville
were crying ‘Boo-hoo,’
for Assad had used sarin
and gassed their whole crew.
They waited on help
for a red line had been crossed,
but help never showed
and the Lorax felt lost.
He knew Whoville
was the next holocaust.

The Lorax, he knew
he must flee this place.
“I must go at once,
Quickly, make haste.”

He ran to his friend,
the Cat in the Hat,
and begged him to come
before their town was bombed flat.

“We could flee to the east
to the Islamic State,”
said the Cat in the Hat
making the Lorax irate.

“No, fuck those guys
and their whole caliphate.
I’d rather be dead
than live among assholes I hate.
Plus a pile of rubble
will be Al-Raqqah’s fate.”

“We could flee to the north,”
said the Cat in the Hat,
“and live with the Kurds.
What do you think about that?”

“I hate the Kurds, too,
For they’re always at war,
surrounded by blood
and surrounded by gore.”

“We should then go far west,”
said the Cat, right away,
“to France or to Belgium
or the U. S. of A.
We’ll make us a raft
and sail the seas blue,
along with my wards,
Thing 1 and Thing 2.”

“On, then!” said the Lorax
“for staying is not good.
Find us a sail
and some rope and some wood.”

They gathered supplies
and ran towards the shore,
with plans to flee Syria
and see it no more.

They ran through the war zone
where bodies had rotted,
when the Cat in the Hat yelled
“Oh no, we’ve been spotted!”

Assad’s troops had seen them
and were determined to kill
anyone who did not surrender
to al-Assad’s will.

A .50 cal round
found the Cat in the Hat.
It went straight through his head
and his brains went ker-splat!

And the mortars they flew
and they flew and they flew
and the Cat in the Hat’s wards
became Mist 1 and Mist 2.

The Lorax kept running
with fear in his eyes
as rockets and mortars
were tracing the skies.

A sniper took aim
and shot at the Lorax,
and a high-powered round
ripped straight through his thorax.

He fell to the ground
and screamed “I’ve been shot!
Someone please help me,
I’m bleeding — a lot!”

The Lorax lay wounded
and bleeding to death.
He prayed to Allah
and drew his last breath.

His eyes then rolled back,
back into his head.
The Lorax was finished,
the Lorax lay dead.

His life had been wasted,
for what? No idea.
Perhaps no other reason
than he was Sunni, not Shia.